He Who Numbers the Stars
by PeculiarLeah
Summary: On the outskirts of Nazi-occupied Copenhagen in the summer of 1943, Ragnar Lothbrock controls a network of partisans who fight against their Nazi occupiers and assist their Jewish neighbors to safety in Sweden. Ragnar's crippled son Ivar wishes to fight the German's alongside his father, particularly after he falls in love with a Jewish girl whose life is threatened by the invaders
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: A Very Long Night**

Ivar woke with a start, his blue eyes flew open and he pushed himself up from his pillows. He rolled from his bed and crawled beneath the wooden bedposts as he heard bombs exploding in a nearby railyard. Even as he curled in a ball with his ears covered, he smiled broadly, pride swelling in his chest as he realized what the time explosions must mean. His father's men were at their work once again.

After a few hours the explosions, shots, and shouts of the Gestapo died down. Ivar sighed and stretched, the grey sky, which he could only just see through the window had a soft glow. He rubbed the side of his leg, the muscle was aching and sticky blood had dried where his knee had hit the floor. He knew he wouldn't be able to get back into bed on his own, so he waited on the floor as the sun rose, watching the morning light slowly creep over him. It was some time later, after he had heard his mother call upstairs for them to come for their breakfasts that Ivar slowly began to drag himself across the floor. He didn't want to have to call his elder brother to help him up, but he didn't see a way for him to get dressed or even get to his crutches from his current position. For Ivar was paralyzed, and had been for as long as he could remember. The insidious polio virus had taken the use of his legs when he was less than three years old.

On the ground he could crawl as fast as any man could walk, and he could fight as well as any of his brothers, but that didn't help him now. Once he was down, he couldn't get up without assistance, unless a chair was low enough for him to hoist himself up with his arms. Eventually he decided to bite the bullet and call for help. He dragged himself across the floor to the opposite wall, only a handful of feet really, and knocked on the wall of Ubbe's room.

"Ubbe, I need a little help in here." Ivar heard Ubbe roll out of his bed and shuffle to Ivar's door, pushing it open quietly.

"What happened? Did you fall?" Ubbe was still a little bleary eyed and looked humorously young in his too short pajamas. All four young men had grown since the war began, and with shortages of fabric some of their things had grown quite short.

"I woke up to the explosions, I thought it was an air raid at first so I got under my bed." Air raids were uncommon in Denmark, but everyone in Copenhagen was still on high alert, particularly since the Allies landed in Sicily two weeks ago. Ubbe nodded and knelt down next to Ivar who used his brother's shoulders to balance as Ubbe lifted him, grunting as they made their way toward the bed.

"There," grunted Ubbe as he set Ivar down on the bed.

"Thanks Ubbe, I hate having to wake you for this." Whispered Ivar looking down, he hated having to be helped, having to be pitied.

"It's nothing Ivar, there is no shame in this." Ivar huffed, he pulled himself to the foot of his bed and grabbed his clothes and braces from the chair where he kept them.

"If there is no shame in it Ubbe, then how about you try it for a while." Ubbe just shook his head slightly, he knew not to cross his brother about this. As Ivar dressed, Ubbe stood, stretched and turned to leave.

"Let me know when you need to get downstairs, I can smell mother making coffee and I heard father come in just before you called me." Ivar nodded curtly, buttoning his shirt and pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. Slowly, he lifted his right leg and began forcing his stockinged foot into his boot, bracing his back against the bedpost as he strapped the brace around his leg.

"I can make it myself thanks." Ubbe nodded in assent, ignoring his brother's curt tone.

Ragnar sat at the kitchen table, a cup of imitation coffee in his hands, the bitter hot beverage was the only thing most people could get since the war began. His face was awfully grim. Their mother bustled about the kitchen, her blonde hair still hanging behind her in a braid from the night before, rather than curled and pinned up as it usually was, her face too looked old and drawn.

"Don't bother your father boys, he's had a very long night."

The young men ate their herring and buttered black bread in silence, even Sigurd knew not to cross his father this morning. Eventually their father broke the silence.

"Sigurd, go with Hvitserk to the harbor and do something, fish, bring a few girls out there, I don't care just act as though last night meant nothing more than any other night of bombing. Ubbe and Ivar, go to the smithy just as you did yesterday. Nothing can seem to have changed, you may not look concerned, you may not look afraid. You will act as though last night never happened. You are to be invisible. If soldiers stop you and ask questions you are to be silly young boys, you are not to talk back, you will answer their questions simply and directly. You are not to give them any reason to remember you." the young men looked at each other furtively, this behavior was strange, even from Ragnar. It was Ivar who spoke first,

"If we are to obey your orders, will you at least tell us what happened last night Father?" His father looked up from his coffee, anger behind his eyes, but to Ivar's surprise he actually answered.

"We lost men in the raid last night, at least half a dozen were captured, another five were killed. Your half brother was among the captured." Aslaug turned from her cooking to embrace her husband. She didn't speak, only softly kissed her husband's head. Ragnar's had married young and his first wife, Lagertha had died shortly after the birth of their son Bjorn. He had met Aslaug a few years later and they had been married within a year, their first son, Ubbe being born within a year of their marriage. Like his father, Bjorn was fatally attracted to rebellion, he had fought first in Spain in 1936, then in Finland against the Soviets, then in Norway. But it was only back home in Denmark that he had landed in a Gestapo prison.

Ivar spoke softly, in a manner most unlike his normally gruff demeanor.

"I'm sorry Father, we'll get along with our chores now." He took a last gulp of coffee and pushed himself up from the table with the aid of his crutches. As he left, his father reached out and grabbed his arm, causing Ivar's balance to waver. His father looked hard at him and whispered so that only Ivar could hear.

"Be careful, Ivar, your legs make you stick out and it makes you a target. I know you can handle yourself in a fight, but promise me, you will do nothing to provoke such an encounter." A look of disgust passed over Ivar's face, his lip curling in anger, he quickly dismissed the disgust but couldn't hide the anger in his eyes. He leaned down, his strong arms balanced on the table, had it been anyone other than Ragnar saying this he would have been furious, instead, his anger was dampened by rejection and self hatred, but also by his immense respect for his father.

"You underestimate me father, the Germans underestimate me at their peril." Ragnar shook his head.

"You are young Ivar, though you are smart, smarter than most men twice your age. But you let your anger run away with you. We can no longer afford such things. Promise me, for God's sake, keep your head down." Ivar pursed his lips, silently, he turned and left, dragging himself from the room on his crutches.


	2. Chapter 2: JUDE

"You know what happened last night Ivar, I know you do." Ivar shook his head, Margot looked clearly displeased as she pushed her short cropped raven hair behind her ear.

"Don't you deny it Ivar Lothbrok, you and your father know just about everything that goes on around here, and I don't see why you don't tell me." She fingered the gold star on its thin gold chain which rested defiantly under her green sweater.

"It is not as though I would sell you to the Germans." she groused under her breath.

"You know why I can't." Ivar replied softly, continuing to work his knife round a piece of wood, slowly forming it into the shape of a dove.

"No, I don't, tell me again." She was grinning now, biting her bottom lip slightly, her scuffed boot moving beneath the table to rub against his calf.

"Bjorn was captured last night." The color drained from Margot's face and any trace of laughter were gone from her eyes. Under her breath she murmured,

"Is your family leaving, Ivar?" Slowly she reached her hand across the table, Ivar let her take his hand and rub his large hand, roughened from years using his crutches, between her small, soft ones. He had always marveled at her slender hands, so small in his own when he held them.

"I don't know, father hasn't said anything. He barely even told us about Bjorn. You might think I know everything, but Margot, my father tells us next to nothing. He told me once, 'it is easier to be brave if you do not know everything.'"

"It is easier to lie he means." His face darkened somewhat at her response.

"Perhaps, but sometimes you have to lie, just to survive." Her dark eyes lowered to their entwined hands,

"Or else you have to dream," she murmured, humming a few bars of the song they had swayed to the first night they had met. " _Dreaming is better, dreaming is brighter."_ Ivar nodded, his magnificent blue eyes meeting her dark ones. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, then stood, her dark curls bouncing as she moved.

"Let's forget all this, just for today. We can walk along the pier and sit by the harbor and see the ships go by and eat salt licorice!" Ivar laughed lightly, pecking Margot's cheek

"There is no salt licorice anymore, and hardly any ships in the harbor. But..." he said grinning, and slowly pushing himself up from the work bench with the aid of his crutches. "Perhaps we can eat salt fish from your uncle's store and dip our toes in the sea, we won't get many more days like this this summer." Margot smiled, she loved going to her uncle's store, despite the smell of fish. He would give them tastes of expensive gravlax and caviar and give them long strips of smoked fish skin to suck on, chewing off every last bit of meat. In the heat of the summer he would sometimes slice of large strips of ice for her and her brothers, he would sprinkle them with sugar and let them sit on the steps as they ate. She took Ivar's hands, standing on her toes to kiss him.

"I'd like that very much." she murmured, her soft hand finding its customary position at the small of his back. She could not hold his hand as they walked, for he needed both hands to support himself on his crutches. Besides, it was a bad idea to be seen holding hands with a non-Jewish boy. The Germans were easily angered, and everyone in the Copenhagen Jewish community were increasingly on high alert. Margot's family was on particular alert, Margot's mother was not a Danish citizen, and most of her mother's family, her parents and siblings included, still lived in Cologne, in the very heart of Hitler's Germany. In the early days of the war letters had still managed to come. One would think that after the occupation letters from Germany would be easier to come by, and for a while they had been, until about six months ago when the letters had abruptly stopped. Or at least they seemed to. Until just three months ago, when a single postcard from "The Family Rosen" arrived in the post box. The return address read only _Arbeitslager Birkenau_ , the language of the note was clipped and strange, as though it had been written in a great hurry and her grandmother's normally steady, artistic hand, was shaky and hardly legible. The last line which sent "all our love" to Margot and her family, was written with such dark strokes that it nearly broke through the paper, as though her grandmother were trying to pour a lifetime's worth of love into those three small words. When Margot had opened the envelope she had felt a cold wind rush over her, her stomach had dropped to her toes, and a strange sense of dread came over her. She had given it to her mother with shaking hands and her mother seemed overcome with the same dread as Margot. A fear she could not name. She shook out her dark locks and took a deep breath, smiling softly and pulling Ivar along with her into the Copenhagen sun.

They walked slowly along the docks, the salt and the sea breeze giving a red tint to their cheeks. They laughed and kissed and talked, pretending, if only for a moment, that there was no war, no Germans, and no Hitler.

As they neared her uncle's fish store Ivar felt Margot shrink back beside him, her breath coming in short gasps. Ivar looked up, his blue eyes making a bee-line for the shop window. The glass was broken as though by a brick hurled with great force. Where the glass remained, scrawled in yellow paint, was a single word **JUDE** : Jew. Beside it, in the same yellow paint, was a huge yellow star.

Ivar turned to Margot, there were tears in her brown eyes, before he could stop her she was running towards her uncle's store, screaming his name. Ivar cursed, gripping his crutches harder, following Margot as fast as he could.

"Uncle Heschie! Uncle Heschie!" I screamed as I ran, my arms pumping and my skirt flying above my knees, the wooden soles of my shoes pounded as they hit the pavement. I pushed the door open and looked around, not seeing my uncle.

"Uncle Heschie!" I screamed again. I ran into the back room where Uncle Heschie cleaned and salted the fish. Cold air hit my face as I entered the room. Uncle always kept the back room cold with piles of ice where he could keep the fish fresh. I turned, running through the door to Herschel's office, he was sitting in an office chair, his head in his hands, a bloody cloth pressed to his temple. I stopped in my tracks, I couldn't breath, I dropped to my knees in front of him, my hand on his knee, I spoke softly, barely making any noise.

"My G-d! Are you alright? What did they do to you?" Herschel shook his head, patting my hair like I was a little girl again. "I'm fine pet, a bit of glass caught me that's all, I'll be just fine, don't worry."

Ivar burst through the door, panting at the effort of walking.

"Margot, are you alright? Where are you?" Margot turned, wiping her eyes.

"We're back here Ivar."

Slowly and painfully, Ivar made his way towards the back room, when he entered, his heart sank as he saw the blood on Margot's uncle's face. He advanced slowly, his braces clicking, he leaned heavily on one of his crutches and laid his hand on Margot's shoulder. She looked up, her face tear streaked as she placed her slim, alabaster palm over his own. Ivar's eyes were hard, and angry, but he managed to speak softly, even gently.

"Did you see who it was?" Herschel sighed, shaking his head,

"What does it matter Ivar?" Ivar's eyes flashed blue fire again.

"That's not what I asked." Margot, who was normally so fiery and stubborn she could easily match Ivar's temper. But now she seemed drawn, worn, and very very tired.

"Don't, Ivar. There's nothing we can do." He knew she was right, and it killed him to know it, who would dare help them? Who could they turn to? Certainly not the police, who answered directly to the Nazis.

"You two should go home, I'll finish out the day and then come home. Margot, tell you mother I may be late." There was something in Herschel's voice that told Margot not to argue with her uncle. She stood slowly, straightening her skirt and wiping away the tears from her eyes. She reached out her hands and Ivar took them, balancing with his crutches under his arms.

They walked home slowly, Ivar exhausted from the long walk and Margot quiet from fear and rage.

"How can they do this to us?" she murmured, breaking her silence.

"We were supposed to be Danes, we were supposed to fit in here. We speak Danish we dress like Danes, we eat Danish food. We don't stick out, my father works with gentile patients, my mother has gentile friends, my sisters and I go to gentile school. It was supposed to be different here. Better." Ivar nodded. Anger still roiling in his chest.

"Lets sit for a minute, I need a break before I walk home." Ivar murmured as they neared Margot's house. They often did this, Ivar could not manage long walks, even with the support of his leg braces and crutches, so they often had to find an out of the way spot to sit and rest for a time. They sat on her porch and Margot scratched her toe along the dirt at the base of the step, slowly Ivar reached down and picked a small purple flower and handed it to her.

"Pretty," he murmured. "Like you." She smiled, taking the flower and spinning it between her fingers.

"Ivar, I've been thinking. Some of the kids in my youth group have been talking. About what we should do if they start rounding people up like they're doing in Germany. Some of them want to stay and fight, but, I don't know. I don't want to die here. Some of them want to try and sail to Sweden, then catch a boat to England and make their way to Palestine. And Ivar, if they go, I'm going with them." Ivar couldn't speak. He kissed her black curls and stood, slowly walking away.

 _*AN~ the information about notes sent from death camps like Birkenau is true. It was not uncommon for the Nazis to force newly arrived prisoners, particularly those already chosen to be killed, to write notes to their loved ones in order to stop other Jews from fearing deportation to the East. Almost everyone who wrote these notes was dead within a few hours of writing them, and most of those receiving the notes would be killed weeks or months later._

 _Also, I have by no means abandoned my other stories, I'm working on all three, this actually helps me keep writer's block at bay as I am usually able to get ideas for at least one story. Unfortunately updates may be a bit slow in coming as I am going to be writing my thesis, working an internship, and applying to grad school. But I promise you guys that none of these stories have ended!_


	3. Chapter 3: Halt

**Chapter Three: Halt**

Ivar walked home slowly, angry and hurt, no not by Margot, but by every Nazi soldier he passed on every street corner. As he approached his own house, head down and eyes boring into the ground, he heard a harsh voice mere feet in front of him.

" _Halt_." Ivar raised his eyes slowly, passing Jackboots, trousers, death's head, an SS man. The man's eyes were ice blue, too much like Ivar's own.

" _Lebst du hier?"_ the SS man barked, but Ivar didn't waver, he replied in Danish, refusing to kneel to the man's language, even if he had no choice but to follow the man's orders.

"Yes I live here, what do you want?" The man glared at Ivar, but Ivar continued to stand firm.

" _Wo ist dein Vater?"_ Ivar straightened himself on his crutches,

"Working I think, I have been out since the morning." The man huffed, switching to Danish, clearly annoyed at Ivar's unhelpfulness.

"So cripple boy, are you going to tell me where to find your father or are we going to talk here all afternoon."

"He works in the shipyard, he's a manager."

"Where in the shipyard?"

"I'm not sure, he moves around, almost every day sometimes. He supervises the men, he works in an office sometimes though, it's near the international docks."

"Where did he work last?"

"On the Queen Margrethe I think." Ivar seemed to have broken down the man's barriers a bit, convincing him that he could be trusted, that he wasn't hiding anything.

"Have you seen your brother recently?" Ivar put on a look of confusion,

"I saw them this morning, has something happened?"

"You saw Bjorn this morning?" The SS man asked pointedly, Ivar deepened his look of confusion, playing the fool.

"No, I haven't seen Bjorn since he visited my father almost two weeks ago, he's only my half-brother. I have three other brothers I saw this morning. Is Bjorn alright?"

"That is none of your business, cripple." _Act the part_ Ivar told himself _don't look like a threat_. He slumped on his crutches looking as forlorn as he could,

"Bjorn ran away before, do you think he ran away again? He's so reckless, father always thought he would run someday. He's not in some sort of trouble is he?" He crushed the anger roiling inside him, it took everything he had to keep up the charade. Looking up through his eyelashes he saw his ruse had worked, the young SS man no longer looked like a cat ready to pounce but rather annoyed at his time being wasted and perhaps even sympathetic.

"Can I go sir? I'm meant to be home, I don't want my mother to worry." The SS man nodded curtly, before pulling an envelope from his jacket.

"Fine, but you are to have your mother give this to your father. It is very important." Ivar nodded, relieved that his innocent act had paid off. He took the paper and put it in his pocket, nodding to the SS man.

"I promise, I'll give it to her right away." He put on a look of great earnestness, sealing the man's trust.

"Alright, then get going." Ivar nodded and began to walk away, only when he was finally inside did he let his guard down he realized he had been holding his breath and let out a great sigh as he sat down at the kitchen table. His mother was cleaning the flue above the stove, and turned when she heard his sigh.

"What happened Ivar? What's wrong?" Ivar pulled the note from his pocket and slammed it down on the table. Then whispered.

"Open it so you can be seen through the window, make sure to looked shocked." Aslaug gave an almost imperceptible nod, and took the letter, making sure to have her back to the window so no one would realize she knew she could be being watched. As she read she put her hand to her mouth and sat down heavily, head in her hands. Ivar had a feeling it wasn't entirely an act.

"They have Bjorn imprisoned in Froslev." Ivar's blood ran cold, _the prison camp_ , he thought, they'd work him and torture him until he gave up whatever information he knew, maybe until he gave up Ragnar. Aslaug put her arms around Ivar, whispering into his thick hair,

"It's going to be alright. Bjorn is strong, he won't tell them anything, he'd die before he gives up your father, you know that." Ivar nodded, but he couldn't help the fear that had settled in his chest. His mother kissed him softly before turning back to her chores. Ivar pushed himself up from the table steadying himself with his crutches, suddenly very tired and walked into the front room taking his book from the desk before lowering himself onto the sofa.

He pulled his legs up onto the couch with the strap of each brace then began to unbuckle and unlace the cuffs around his thighs. Sighing, he eased off the braces, wincing as he touched the spot on his knee that was always rubbed raw by the metal joints that locked to keep him upright. He reclined, feeling the pain of the weak and overworked muscles in his lower back flare along with the eternal ache in his legs that had been there as long he could remember. He opened the book, trying to read, trying for forget- to somehow not think about the day's events or about Margot's words. He managed to very nearly lose himself in the words of the old stories, of gods stronger than the Christian God and stranger than the monsters in the folk tales of Hans Andersen. He had been reading for about an hour when he heard his father walk through the door, followed by the rough and tumble sounds of his brothers making their way into the kitchen. Ivar sighed, he didn't feel like putting the heavy braces back on so he could join his brothers, instead he slipped from the sofa and crawled across the room to his wheelchair which was kept in the corner of the room. It had taken him years and two surgeries to be as steady on his feet as he was now, but it hadn't always been that way and the chair helped him get around when his legs were tired or in pain. He locked the brakes and pulled himself into the chair with a grunt. He heard Ubbe call from the dining room where he was setting the table, asking if he was alright.

"I'm fine, Ubbe. Don't fuss, I was just getting into my chair." Ubbe pushed through the door just as Ivar was situating himself, drying a glass.

"Need any help?" Ivar rolled his eyes, giving his brother a hard stare

"When is the last time I've needed help with this, Ubbe? I'm not helpless," he smiled sarcastically giving a short laugh, "Just crippled."

"I know you're not. But you're my brother. I like to know you're safe." Ivar settled in his chair and wheeled out of the room, waving his hand at Ubbe. Ubbe would never talk like that to Sigurd of Hvitserk, like they were little children in need of protection. Ivar hated being treated with kid gloves, as though he was somehow fragile. He stopped short in the doorway, nearly rolling directly into his father.

"Woah there Ivar," his father admonished as he got out of his son's way.

"Sorry father," his father looked drawn and worried.

"Ivar, come into my study please, we should talk." Ivar nodded, his father took the handles of his chair and rolled him into his study, sitting down in his desk chair so he was at eye level with Ivar.

"Dr. Rosen called me at work, he told me what happened to Heschie at the store today." Ivar nodded, knowing what was coming next.

"Heschie said you and Margot were there. Did you see what happened? Who did it?" Ivar shook his head.

"We got there after it happened. I didn't see anyone."

"Alright, that's good. Now did anyone see you coming out of the store?" Ivar shook his head again.

"I don't know. There were people in the street but I didn't see any soldiers. Not until I got home at least. Did mother tell you?" Ragnar nodded,

"Yes, now I want you to tell me everything about it, what the soldier looked like, what he said, what you said, how he acted, everything." As Ivar recounted the story, his father's face grew harder. Ivar himself began to worry, what if they too had to leave, or go into hiding? Or what if they arrested Ragnar or even the whole family. He began imagining his father and brothers lined up against a wall and shot one by one. He shivered, feeling his insides grow cold.

"Ivar? Are you listening to me?" Ivar shook his head

"Sorry father. I just got to thinking." Ragnar shook his head.

"You think too much sometimes my young strategist, now let me tell you what we are going to do next. Dr. Rosen wants to introduce me to, shall we say, a colleague. And I will need your help to make this meeting happen." Ivar perked up, paying close attention to his father's every word.

"Dr. Rosen's colleague works at the hospital, you will be brought as a patient, if anyone asks you have been having pain in your legs which Dr. Johansen hopes to correct. We will meet in three days at Dr. Rosen's office, you will come in ill, and Dr. Rosen will accompany us to the hospital. You will be admitted to Dr. Johansen which will allow us to meet without drawing any suspicion. So, do you think you can do this for us?" Ivar nodded, his lips in a thin line. He did not relish the idea of returning to the Copenhagen Municipal hospital, but if it helped his father's mysterious plans he was more than willing. His father seemed to understand his hesitancy and didn't question it. The hesitancy did not show weakness on Ivar's part. He had spent too much time in that hospital, most of it scared and in pain.

"Good man, now go in and help your brother set the table."

Margot bypassed her mother, who was knitting a pair of socks on the sofa in the front room, rocking the baby cradle with her foot, and ran upstairs to her small bedroom which overlooked the back alley and the row houses behind theirs. She pulled the quilt from her bed and perched on a chair beside her window. Letting out a long breath, she finally let herself cry, silently into the quilt covering her knees. When she had finally cried herself out, she stood, then went to the basin and washed her face. She took a book from the shelf and sat on her bed, trying to read, but she couldn't concentrate. She closed the book and sighed, running her fingers along the spine, feeling the raised gothic letters under her fingertips. _Why did I tell him?_ She thought. _I'm not even sure I'll have to go, or that I'd have the courage to go if I did have to, why risk ruining everything?_ She tried knitting, sewing, anything to keep her mind off the events of the day. She was immensely grateful when her mother called upstairs, telling her to feed the baby while she began to cook supper.

Margot took little Elka in her arms, bouncing her up and down on her hip as her mother handed her the bottle. The baby cooed as she saw the bottle.

"Yes little one, that's for you" Margot murmured, sitting down and cradling her little sister in the crook of her arm and offering the five month old the bottle. The little girl opened her tiny mouth and took the bottle hungrily, pure joy in her blue eyes. 'I wish I could be so carefree' Margot thought. 'She doesn't have to worry about anything as long as she's warm and fed.'

She kissed her pale, wispy curls, smelling her sister's sweet baby scent. She closed her eyes and all she could see behind them was the blood on her uncle's forehead and the yellow paint oozing over his broken windows. Like a brand.

"Please G-d don't let them hurt her" She whispered, hugging the little girl close to her. As Elka finished her bottle and Margot stood to pat her back, she heard her father coming through the door.

"Hello papa" she called, putting on a brave face.

"Hello _zisinke_." He kissed her forehead and ruffled Elka's little curls, she giggled, wiggling in Margot's arms. His eyes looked sad, but he smiled at the little girl's antics.

"Looks like someone wants her papa" he picked up the baby, smiling sadly as he snuggled her against his shoulder. He sat down, cradling the baby in one arm and patting the sofa next to him.

"I think you know that we need to talk, _zisinke_ , about what happened today at Heschie's shop." Margot nodded, sitting down next to her father and resting her head on his shoulder, silently she let the tears fall against his coat. He ruffled her curls softly,

"I'm so sorry you had to see that darling." Margot sat up slowly, breathing deeply to calm herself, and wiping her eyes.

"I'm alright papa, really, whoever did it was gone by the time I got there, and Uncle Heschie is ok, that's all that should matter. Right?" Her father hugged Elka closer, squeezing Margot's hand with his other.

"I suppose now, its all we can care about _zisinke_."


	4. Chapter 4: Hitler Youth

Ivar hadn't been paying attention to the three Hitler Youth boys walking several hundred yards behind him as he walked towards Margot's house the next morning. He could have kicked himself. It was a stupid, thoughtless mistake. He had used a good portion of his spending money to cajole the grocer's son, who ran a small black market business from out of his father's warehouse, to sell him a few pieces of licorice. It was hard and looked a bit old but he knew Margot would appreciate the gesture nonetheless. How foolish, he thought later, how stupid he had been not to realize the danger. To go down an alley as a shortcut not even thinking of how easy it would be for the three thugs to gang up on him. The first punch came from out of nowhere and left Ivar stunned and sprawled on the pavement, by the time the second came Ivar was ready, a coiled snake. Standing he was a target, weak and unable to fight. On the ground, he was a viking. The second punch hit its mark, but as it struck, Ivar was able to grab the boy's arm and drag him down on top of him, driving his elbow deep into the boy's gut. His other hand connected with the boy's ribs and he felt them snap under his fist as he punched repeatedly. The boy clutched his chest, winded and nauseous from Ivar's pointed blow. With the boy doubled over Ivar managed to get a few more punches, breaking the boy's nose before the two other Hitler Youth boys jumped on him, Ivar felt one of his ribs snap as one of the boy's boots descended on his chest. It was enough to stun him, giving the boys ample time to pin him to the ground.

"Fucking Jew lover!" The first boy spit blood at Ivar

"Better a Jew lover than Hitler's little bitch," Ivar sneered. He pushed himself up, grappling with the boys who had pinned his arms behind him. He managed to elbow one of the boys in the groin but despite the pain he managed to keep his grip on Ivar's arm, yanking it further behind him. The first boy grinned cruelly at Ivar, blood dripping from his teeth due to his split lip. He looked like something out of a nightmare Ivar thought. It was the last thing he knew before a fist connected with the side of his head, his skull crashed against the pavement and he knew no more.

He didn't know if it was five hours or five minutes later when he awakened. Ivar groaned, feeling pounding in his head and horrible pain in his chest. He pushed himself up, clutching his head as he did so. He swore and began searching the ground behind him for his crutches. He found them and pulled them forward. He touched his cheek and winced, he would have a black eye by the morning. God his father would have his hide for this, he thought. He glared at himself. It wasn't fair- if it was Hvitserk or Ubbe, or even Sigurd his father would tell them off for the benefit of their mother, but would probably secretly pat them on the back later. He was likely to give Ivar a talk about staying safe, he would then spin a line about how Ivar's legs were his strength. But all that really meant was that he was supposed to be the brains behind his brother's schoolyard exploits rather than to try and prove himself in a fist fight. He rolled his eyes thinking that ten to one his father wouldn't even protest when his mother would invariably suggest that he retire to his bed to rest and let his injuries heal. He finally got both crutches in position and began to struggle to his feet. It took several minutes but eventually he got to his feet. He steadied himself against the wall and checked his pockets. The bastards hadn't thought to rifle through them, he chuckled, he had several coins and the packet of licorice still in his pocket. _Stupid thugs_ he thought, _can't even pull off a mugging right_. He debated walking home, he didn't particularly relish what Margot's mother would say when she saw his bruised face and split lip. But, he reasoned, he really ought to have his ribs wrapped and Dr. Rosen would certainly be able to oblige. A stab of pain decided it for him. He couldn't ignore it unless he wanted a punctured lung, he reasoned and so began the slow walk to the Rosens.

"I don't want to know" was all Mrs. Rosen said when Ivar arrived on her doorstep looking bruised and battered. She called Margot and left for the kitchen leaving Ivar standing slightly awkwardly in the front hall. Margot stopped halfway down the stairs when she saw Ivar.

"What the fuck happened to you?" she asked, he smiled slightly, reaching into his pocket for the packet of licorice and holding it out to her

"I brought you this" he responded, wincing slightly. She crossed her arms over the bosom of her blue dress, staring him down.

"That's hardly an answer Ivar"

"Oh just come down here and I'll tell you everything" She raised an eyebrow, descending the stairs slowly. She walked directly in front of him, standing on her toes to examine the blossoming bruise on his cheek.

"It's not as bad as it looks. I'll ice it later, I might want to have your dad take a look at my side though, the bastard gave me a nasty kick in the ribs. I rearranged his face pretty good though so we're even." Margot pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly,

"I hate it when you talk like that." She murmured, taking his hand and kissing his bloodied fingers lightly.

"Let's go then, he's in his office." He nodded, following her slowly his body aching badly now that the adrenaline from the fight had worn off. They walked through the small row house and around back to the back entrance of her father's office. They waited in his study while he finished with a patient.

"Why did you do it." Margot asked softly, thumbing abscently through one of her father's medical texts.

"I didn't start it if that's what you're asking." She leaned over, kissing his cheek lightly,

"Maybe, you do tend to pick fights with just about everyone, including me." she smiled at him coyly. Ivar's face stayed dark and unamused.

"They called you a dirty Jew, they said you were a whore." she raised her eyebrow somewhat sadly.

"So defending my honor then?" he shrugged,

"I suppose so."

"Well I guess I should be lauding praise on you then" she smirked, running her hand through his hair. She drew her hand back quickly as she heard her father coming down the hall.

"What's the matter Margot? Your mother said you and Ivar..." His eyes fell on Ivar's split lip and a look of fear came over him.

"Are you two alright?" Margot nodded,

"I'm fine papa, I wasn't even there. Ivar ran into a couple Hitler Youth from school."

"How do they look?" her father asked Ivar pointedly, Ivar smirked.

"Lets just say I held my own and leave it at that." Dr. Rosen smiled,

"Now as a doctor I'm certainly not supposed to say this, but good for you son. I hope you creamed them. Now, let's get those cuts seen to. " Ivar nodded, following Dr. Rosen slowly, careful not to catch the oriental rug with his crutches. Once in his office Dr. Rosen indicated Ivar should sit in a chair, sparing him the embarrassment of being helped onto the examination table. Ivar nodded at him gratefully, he didn't need further humiliation, and he could always trust Dr. Rosen to spare him pain or embarrassment. He had ever since Ivar had been a small boy. The Rosen family had moved to Denmark just a month after Hitler was elected in 1933. Ivar had been only a small boy of six then, ill and confined to his bed much of the time. His father had been one of the first to trust Dr. Rosen, and soon he had become not only a family friend, but in many ways Ivar's salvation. He had used groundbreaking techniques to strengthen Ivar's muscles enough that with braces and crutches he could walk for fairly long distances. As his mobility improved so did his health and happiness. His children had been Ivar's first and only friends, Dr. Rosen had been with him through several surgeries, and hadn't seemed to object when Ivar started courting his daughter, even though he wasn't Jewish. With the same care he had alway had, Dr. Rosen cleaned his cuts and wrapped a bandage around his ribs to hold them firmly in place.

"Now, you'll want to take it easy for a couple weeks. You definitely cracked a couple ribs, and they can take a long time to heal. I know better than to tell you to stay in bed tomorrow, but you should give yourself some rest. No lifting anything for a bit, you're okay for working, just take it slow alright? And let me know if the pain gets too much worse. You'll want to ice your side as well. And I'm going to give you a liniment to put on eye." He went to a cabinet and took out a small tube.

"I'll put some on now and you keep putting this on morning and night until the cuts and bruises heal. Make sure to come back if you notice infection, or if you get a cough. Broken ribs make you vulnerable to pneumonia. Its summer so we have less worry, but you should pay attention. You and Margot had better be off if you want to be home by dinner." Ivar nodded, standing with Dr. Rosen's help. Ivar put his shoulders back shaking his doctor's hand before turning, and walking slowly from the room.


End file.
